One Day Off
by Kuneko
Summary: "Women like that think they deserve the moon, and they'll shout and yell and cry until they get it." - Selena gets the date of the Moon Festival wrong; her frustration will at least provide an evening's entertainment for Chase. [Chase/Selena, Animal Parade Oneshot.]


**/Author's Note: **I believe this was inspired by Selena's dialogue being slightly off the day before the Moon Festival, which then prompted me to imagine the following scenario. Also, it is totally my headcanon that Chase and Craig, being the jolly neighbours that they are (read: grumpy old men) get together for drinks to complain about the womenfolk. Enjoy, and let me know what you think with a review! **End Author's Note/**

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><p><strong>One Day Off<strong>

…

"Come in," Chase intoned, hearing the familiar subdued knocking behind him. The door opened and closed with a slight groan, letting in a brisk fall breeze that tickled the back of the homeowner's neck.

"Don't even have the courtesy to turn around and greet your guests?" a gruff voice said to Chase's backside. "Come on, show me that pretty face of yours."

The younger man tore his eyes from the window through which he was gazing and turned around. He lifted his wine glass slightly in greeting. "Sorry, Craig. How's your day been?"

"You started without me?" Craig leered at the glass suspended by two fingers as he removed his coat. "Kids these days, I tell ya. _No _manners." He kept his newsboy cap on, as he always did.

Chase had long since learned to take his older companion's dispassionate grumblings as a form of teasing, and proceeded to pour him a glass from the wine bottle on his dining table. Craig walked over and lifted it to his face.

"This smells like cheap shit," he remarked, "Purely and utterly."

"And you're going to love every sip of it, you old bag. Cheers."

There was a clink of glass and a moment of silent drinking – the beginning of their nightly ritual.

Though half his age, Chase had grown fond of the older man over the time that they'd been neighbours. He was what Craig referred to as an 'old soul' – he had no desire for the company of people his _own _age, because, honestly, Chase only had so much patience. Owen was too loud, Renee was too chipper, Luna was too shrill, Toby seemed disconnected from reality entirely (and his vacant smile was enough to boil Chase's blood, though he never fully understood why), and Luke should be, in Chase's professional opinion, locked away somewhere, away from any sharp implements. And that was just to name a _few. _

Craig held a similar disposition to the youth of Castanet Town – and just about everyone else. This shared distaste for, well, people, combined with a shared taste for liquor, and the unfortunate closeness of their homes, had lead to the two striking a surprising bond. Begrudging respect had sprouted like fungus between floorboards. Craig escaped to Chase's bachelor pad whenever he had had enough of Ruth, his nagging-but-well-meaning wife, and they were joined most nights by a third regular: a bottle of cheap hooch. This unlikely trio made for surprisingly good company.

They had a lot in common, the middle-aged farmer and the chef in his mid-twenties: neither particularly cared for the companionship of others, and as such could act as brazenly or dismissive as they wanted with each other; neither was particularly taken with the quirky idiosyncrasies of their colorful little seaside town; and neither cared much for women, thinking them more trouble than they were worth. Craig's marriage had dead-ended years ago, according to him, and Chase had no desire to shackle himself to anyone for as long as he could avoid it. Craig, upon hearing this, knew that the kid was 'good people', and promised him – with more enthusiasm than was perhaps necessary – that he'd knock some sense into him should he ever end up changing his mind. He promised he'd use his best hoe – a friend deserved that much, after all.

Chase chanced a glance over his shoulder, back at the window.

"What in the name of the damn Harvest Goddess is happening out there that has you so fixated? Is Irene out racing her goat again?" Craig enquired, his eyes already drooping lazily after the first of the alcohol entered his system.

Chase ran a hand through the forest of untamable blonde hair that sat on his head. "Uh, no. Does she really do that?"

"There've been rumors - but don't deflect."

Stretching his neck around for one last look, Chase turned back to his drinking partner and folded his hands on the surface of the table. "You know how tomorrow's the Moon Festival? The one where the whole town meets at Moon Hill and—"

"Yeah, yeah, they all stare up at the moon like a bunch of idiots. I've been in this town long enough to know its idiotic traditions. One year a bird crapped in Barbara's eye," sniggers bubbled in his throat, helped along by the liquor, "But besides that, it's the same stupid nonsense, every year."

Chase quirked an eyebrow, amused at Craig's utter dismissal of a beloved Castanet tradition. "That sounds about right. Anyway, this new coworker of mine at the Bar – Selena, have you met her?"

"Yeah, her. Tanned skin, red hair, big b…angles?"

"That's the one. She's been harping on about the Moon Festival _all_ day - like, really obsessively. Going on about how stupid it is, about how any festival that requires her to go outside in this weather is 'tantamount to torture', and so on."

"Sounds like my kind of gal," Craig was on his second glass, "Maybe I'll invite her tomorrow evening and she can join me in giving the finger to that big old white bastard."

Chase chuckled, finishing off his own glass – he was always a few sips behind the veteran drinker. "Well, that's just it. She was convinced it was _today_."

"Today?"

"Yep."

"But it's tomorrow."

"It is."

"She's a day off."

"She is."

"And no one corrected her?"

"We've… Well, the staff's gotten used to tuning out her complaints. As soon as the temperature goes below zero, she's firing them off constantly. It's exhausting." A long sigh rattled out of Chase's mouth.

"So she never stops bitching," Craig was now sinking into his chair, his legs apart and his gut out. "Sounds a bit like you, my friend."

"Except I have the consideration to keep it to myself_._" Chase frustratedly waved blonde strands out of his eyes in a constant – and fruitless - battle with his hair for vision. "_She's _got absolutely no filter. No shame." He succeeded in flattening his bangs to the top of his head, only for them to wriggle out of shape a moment later. "Anyway, thinking it was today, she's been out there… Waiting for the festival to start, I guess."

"How long's she been out there?

"It's been about an hour."

Craig's eyebrows flew into his cap. "Now this, I gotta see."

The pair vacated their seats and went to the window to behold the spectacle already underway.

"Is she… _yelling_ at the sky?"

"That is what it looks like."

Craig howled with laughter, the wine settling into his system comfortably. "Look at that cloud cover! There's _no _way- She ain't about to get a peek at any moon any sooner than I'd get a peek of my own wife's behind!"

Selena was indeed out on Moon Hill, of which Chase had a clear view from his dining room window. The lithe dancer was standing staunchly with her fist raised at the sky, in the middle of a tirade against the heavens. Dark clouds glowered at her, and blistering gusts of wind blew back her hair and the various golden trinkets adorned to her exotic outfit. It would have been a mesmerizing sight if not for the rage in her eyes and the muffled curses firing from her mouth.

"She's crazy. Damn, and I thought the women in this town couldn't get any more batshit." Craig hobbled back to the table, pouring himself a third glass. "You stay away from a woman like that, I'm telling you," he hiccupped, "_Those _kind are dangerous. Women like that think they deserve the moon, and they'll shout and yell and cry until they get it."

"Yeah, right," Chase nodded automatically to Craig's predictable advice, but something kept him from returning to the table with him: the shrieking southerner outside his window had him transfixed, rooted to the spot, his wine glass lingering in his hands.

# # #

Chase awoke that night thinking that Selena's furor had finally reached such a level that it breached the walls and windows of his small home – all it was, he soon realized, was a crash of thunder. If he had been dreaming beforehand, he couldn't remember of what – the sound had sent his thoughts scurrying, like mice fleeing into mouse holes.

He remembered, groggily: Hours ago, he had seen Craig off, waddling the two or three meters it took for him to reach his home (stopping midway to urinate on flowers that Chase had been certain Anissa had planted earlier that day). Chase then returned to the window, dragging a chair from his dining set with him, to continue watching Selena. She had, by then, found a spot on the empty hill to sit, bronze arms crossed over bronze knees. Defiantly, she stared up at the sky stubbornly, unwilling to lose this battle of wills.

Chase watched her for a while longer, unsure if it was even out of amusement anymore. Like a spectator at a horse race, he almost found himself rooting for the girl; somehow, he wanted to see the elation on her face when – _if – _the moon actually did show itself. Somehow, he convinced himself that it would be worth it.

…

Sitting up in his bed, his hair a state of chaos previously unseen to man, he blinked through the darkness. He must have gotten tired and given into the temptation of his bed. The room was illuminated by a flash of lightning, followed by the crack of thunder, and the pummeling of rain against his roof. Groaning and nursing his head, Chase fell back into his bed and willed himself back to sleep with all his might. Minutes ticked on painfully before he realized sleep would be impossible until he attended to the thought nagging at the back of his mind:

_Was she still out there?_

Staring up at the ceiling, in that moment, Chase hated himself for what he was about to do.

Sure enough, out in the moonless night, tan skin glistening with rain, was Selena. Allowing himself the tiniest of grins – under the cover of night, when no one could see, of course – Chase pulled on a coat and shoved his feet into a pair of sandals.

"The moon never came!" spat the islander in outrage once she was out of the rain and standing, sopping wet, in Chase's entranceway. Her scarlet hair was in a rare state of ruin, dripping wet and clinging to her face like spidery veins. "What a ridiculous festival. The town should have rescheduled. Or _canceled. _Hardly anyone showed up, and I can't blame them!"

"Yeah, well, be sure to pass that along at the next town hall meeting." When Chase was only met with grumbles, he told her, "Look, there's nothing you can do about the weather. Try again… tomorrow, maybe."

"The festival will be _over _by then, fool!" Her words were spiced with the same rage she had directed at the sky earlier that evening.

Chase wasn't sure he had the heart to tell her. "Right. Silly me."

He passed her an umbrella and opened the door for her before she could make herself anymore at home. "You can give this back to me at work tomorrow. Just don't, like, die of hypothermia on your way back." _And don't pick any fights with anymore celestial bodies, _he resisted saying.

She took the umbrella thanklessly, her eyes still crackling with anger. Inexplicably, they seemed to soften after lingering on Chase for only a moment.

"Uh… G'night then," he said awkwardly, "See you." He repeated when she lingered.

"I can see why you wear those… things," were the dancer's parting words. She made crab-like pinching motions around her own hair, "A toucan could make a nest in that hair."

Immediately feeling his hair and realizing he had not had the foresight to stick in his hairclips, Chase turned a deep shade of red – but in the dark of the storm, Selena would never notice. She turned on her heel and walked out, a woman too proud to accept defeat, even from the Goddess-damned moon.

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><p>And there you have it. Thanks for reading, and as always, reviews are most appreciated!<p> 


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